


Under the Watchful Sky

by spacehopper



Series: Surrounded [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dark!Jon, Extra Treat, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Trick or Treat: Trick, Wing Clipping, Wingfic, dark!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: There is no escape from the tower. Jon and Martin try to make Tim understand that’s for the best.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: Surrounded [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004979
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	Under the Watchful Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reine_des_corbeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts).



Tim wakes up to fingers sliding into his arse and a mouth around his cock. His eyes remain shut; he doesn’t need to look to know who it is, whose fingers twist with cruel knowledge to rub insistently against his prostate. Whose lips suck and whose tongue caresses exactly the right spot, the perfect bundles of nerves to make Tim gasp and buck into the heat. 

But he does look, eventually. He knows that if he doesn’t meet those hungry eyes, the punishment will come. And his thighs and arse still smart for the last time he disobeyed. He hates that he’s become this, hates that the only protest that falls from his lips are gasps and moans and pleas not to stop, begging for more even as his hole is spread wider by additional fingers. 

Hating doesn’t change anything, though. And so he comes in Jon’s mouth, staring into this terrible eyes, and waits for what will follow. 

Jon leaves him, and if Tim hadn’t already guessed from how his wings were tied down to the massive bed, that alone would’ve been enough to make him certain of today’s particular torture. Fear thrums in his chest, an instinctual panic that makes him try to flap against the restraints, even knowing it’s futile. Knowing that if he does somehow break free, the best he can hope for is plummeting to the ground under the watchful sky. To be picked up and cooed over, broken wings forced back into place, as cruel words drip into his ear. 

“If you’d only behave, this wouldn’t happen,” Jon often says, tugging at this hair, as Tim swallows around his cock. 

“We only want to help you,” Martin agrees, hand covering Jon’s as he fucks Tim’s arse, each thrust bringing him deeper, drawing broken moans from Tim’s lip. Only for the sounds to be muffled by Jon’s cock. 

“We want what’s best for you. Someday you’ll see that.”

It doesn’t matter who says that. A lie either way, and one Tim refuses to listen to, refuses to believe even though part of him desperately wants to. If he could give in, could truly believe they cared, truly believe any of this was right, would it hurt less?

He doesn’t think so. And he’s too scared to find out. 

When Martin opens the door, Tim turns his head the other way. Staring at the far wall where Jon must have thrown the many tall windows open earlier. A comfort, or a taunt, to show him the lie of a blue sky. He knows what’s truly out there, knows that there’s no way to soar in this world, except under the auspices of a power Tim will not be a part of. The hope is part of the lie, part of the torture. But he still can’t look away.

And he’d still rather look at that than Martin.

Martin’s worse than Jon. Always has been, even when Tim’s anger was for smaller things. When it was simply favoritism, a warm smile for Jon and an argument for Tim, leaving him bitter and snapping over his desk. Now that same kindness is there, the kindness he longed for once. Present in the small touches of Martin’s hand along his thigh, the kiss against one welt from yesterday’s punishment as he pushes Tim’s legs apart, pushes them up so he can settle at the foot of the bed. 

“It’s better this way,” Martin says. “You know it helps you relax.” 

“Makes it harder to struggle you mean. And it hurts less if he fucks it up. Amazing what endorphins can do, isn’t it?”

“Tim,” Martin says with a sigh. “You know it isn’t like that.” He unties the robe he’s wearing and tosses it aside, lining up his already hard cock with Tim’s entrance. Never as sweet as he pretends to be, too eager to have exactly what he wants without ever questioning the cost. 

Maybe once that would’ve been unfair, but that time is long past. And any thought of fairness is forced from Tim’s mind as Martin begins to push inside him. He’s big, and even with how used to this Tim is—and Jon’s ever helpful prep—it’s still a lot to take. Still overwhelming as Martin bends Tim’s body underneath him, pushing down his thighs and holding him there as he bottoms out inside Tim, while all Tim can do is shudder and moan and cling to the delusion some part of him doesn’t want this. 

A gentle hand runs through his hair, and lips claim his. And damn him, damn them both, and damn Tim most of all. Because he kisses Martin, desperate to drink in Martin’s fleeting affection, the short, stuttering thrusts of his hips. The hand cupping his cheek, keeping him from turning his head to see what Tim knows has already begun. 

Martin can’t keep him contained forever, and when Tim finally breaks free and cranes his neck to see, Martin relents without protest. Moving back to allow Tim a better view, even as he continues to fuck into him. Just as Tim expects, Jon is kneeling next to Martin, sharp bladed scissors gleaming in his hand, cutting through golden flight feathers one by one. 

“Stop,” Tim gasps, as Martin adjust his angle to hit Tim’s prostate. He’s not sure if he’s speaking to Jon or Martin. He’s not sure it matters. Their actions are one and the same in the end. Both intend to hold and sate, trap and contain. A seamless team, united in their goal. Pity they couldn’t have managed that when any of this still mattered, that they couldn’t have managed it for anything good. 

“No,” Jon says softly. “You need this.” 

The look he gives Tim is far kinder than it has any right to be, and it smarts all the more for it. What right does Jon have, to pretend there’s anything human left inside him? With each snip of his scissors, Tim can see his cock hardening. Drinking in the panic Tim feels even now, even after he’s lost count of how many times they’ve done this. 

“And when—” Tim’s protest is cut off as Martin’s hand wraps around Tim’s cock, and it’s been long enough since Jon sucked him off that he’s rock hard again, twitching eagerly in Martin’s hand. “When will I not need this?”

Martin thrusts hard into him, but then he pauses as he seems to process Tim’s question, giving Jon a look that might almost be called accusatory. When Jon meets the look, he flinches, the scissors slicing with a sharp snick, barely out of range of a feather they should not cut. 

“Be more careful, Jon,” Martin says, running his fingers over Tim’s cock lightly, drawing a choked moan from his lips. “And answer the question.”

Tim knows in truth that Jon holds the real power here, that whatever small amount of influence Martin gains from his own domain, it is nothing like Jon’s, nothing like the pure terror of his tower. But that doesn’t seem to matter. Jon never hurts Martin, never questions him or fights him. Evades his questions sometimes, sure. But if Martin presses, he answers. Which is more than he does for Tim.

“When he agrees, Martin. We’ve talked about this.” 

“I know, I know. But when will that be? Can’t you just, you know.” Martin rolls his hips and rubs contemplative fingers over the head of Tim’s cock. Tim moans, and moans again when Martin sighs, and starts up his rhythmic fucking again. All Tim can do is claw at the sheets, wrists bound as surely as his wings. 

“I don’t want to, unless he agrees. It won’t be the same, you know that.” Jon fingers tighten on the scissors, and he clips the final feather on Tim’s left wing decisively before getting to his feet.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Martin stares down at Tim sadly, stopping his thrusts again to gently fondle his cock. “You know it would be lovely, to have you fly above the land and see?”

“I can do that now,” Tim snaps. “If you didn’t keep clipping my wings. Let me go, that’s all you have to do. Just let me—” 

He’s cut off by fingers being thrust into his mouth, followed by Jon sitting astride his chest. He passes the scissors to Martin, who pulls out with a sigh. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll finish.” 

Before Tim can protest further, Jon is freeing his cock from his trousers and gripping Tim’s hair painfully, pulling up his head at an awkward angle so that Jon can thrust erratically into his mouth. If Tim could speak, he’d throw this all in Jon’s face. How sick it is, that the very act of clipping Tim’s wings gets him off. But Jon doesn’t want him to say that, and Jon always gets what he wants here. Leaving Tim with no choice but to take it, or score a pointless victory.

Tim decides he wants to try today, letting his teeth scrape over Jon’s cock, only to be rewarded with a slap to his cheek. His eyes are watering, but he can still see the way Martin’s head shoots up, pausing in his task to look between them. Then he shakes his head, and goes back to cutting.

After that, Tim relaxes, letting Jon thrust down into his throat, only to jerk back suddenly as he comes, spilling all over Tim’s face. When he sits back, Tim can see the tightness at the corners of his eyes, and doesn’t bother to stifle his bark of laughter. He’d really gotten to Jon, and maybe it’s a pointless victory, but it’s one he’ll take. 

“Oh, Jon. Did you really have to do that?” 

Tim turns his head to see Martin setting the scissors on the bedside table. When his gaze flicks back to Jon, he sees with a surge of disgust that it’s that which makes Jon bow his head in shame. Not because of what he’s done to Tim, no. But because _Martin_ noticed, and _Martin_ disapproves. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll clean him up, if you want to finish?” Jon offers tentatively, climbing off Tim and tucking his cock away. 

“Thank you, Jon. That would be lovely,” Martin replies, as he settles back into his previous position, stroking himself back to full hardness as he lines himself up with Tim’s hole.

“You’re such a sweet couple. I can see why everyone looks up to you,” Tim says, when Martin begins to push in.

Martin’s harder to read than Jon, but from the slight tightening of his mouth, Tim thinks he’s struck a blow. Martin won’t retaliate now, not like Jon. But next time either of them decides he’s done something worthy of true punishment, he knows the switch will come down harder in Martin’s hand.

And when it does, Tim will remember this. He’ll remember the way Martin gasps and stares at the entryway to the bathroom when Jon returns with the damp cloth, how they look at each other adoringly as Jon carefully cleans up Tim’s face. 

All while trying to forget the way Martin pulls free after he comes, and wraps his lips around Tim’s straining cock while stroking gently along his thigh. The way Jon strokes his hair and murmurs words against his lips that will haunt Tim even when they finally let him rest.

“We do love you, Tim. We only want what’s best.”


End file.
